Simply Blue
by ro-lal
Summary: Your name is Vriska Serket, and you wish you had been more careful. It all started with you moving next door to one Equius Zahhak, a sweaty but decidedly tolerable 'friend' of yours that you've known since you were nine. All this time you've kept your personal problems just that: personal. Now all your secrets are open for the world to see and you don't know what to do.
1. Chapter 1

Your name is Vriska Serket, and you wish you had been more careful.

It all started with you moving next door to one Equius Zahhak, a sweaty but decidedly tolerable 'friend' of yours that you've known since you were nine. All this time you've kept your personal problems just that: personal. Now all your secrets are open for the world to see and you don't know what to do.

For years and years, you kept your demons to yourself. You shared nothing. You knew no one. With your own safety in mind you shut your mouth and didn't hint at anything being wrong with your life.

Knowing this, anyone could see how opening up to your neighbor has won the award of 'the worst mistake of your life'.

"Do you remember when we were ten, and you came over to my house to accompany us to the pool?" Equius asks quietly, stretching and lying back on the grass hill. You stand over him with your arms crossed for a long moment, silent as you watch him get comfortable. When he's settled, you drop next to him with a sigh.

"Yeah, why?" You reply, watching the clouds above the trees drift across the darkening sky. You yawn and stretch, wiggling to get the itchy grass to flatten. Finally you rest the back of your head on your hands, in imitation of Equius' artfully sprawled position next to you (is that even possible? Of course it is, it's Equius and somehow he can do these things). It's surprisingly comfortable.

"You stripped in front of everyone," he answers, smiling at the memory. You yourself hold back an embarrassed grin. "The whole pool watched. And you didn't even know that you were supposed to wear the suit into the water."

"Shut up," you say snippily, rolling over to give him a look. You remember that day very clearly. Your mother had told you not to, but you put on the swim suit your father sent you from Italy and went next door. Of course Equius' family had allowed you to join them – they're unbelievably kind people – and you snuck away from the neighborhood with them to take the trip. You'd never seen so much water in one place, but it had vaguely resembled a bathtub. "In my defense, it was my first time seeing a body of water that large."

"But still," he chuckles. "It was quite the lewd display indeed."

"Uuuuuuuugh," you groan. "Can we drop it?"

He ignores you in favor of a trip down the memory ditch. "I remember being shocked and wishing to never see that much of you again, too."

You watch his expression change from amusement to nostalgia, lips pursed. Your eyes follow his profile from the long black hair stuck to his face to his jawline and further down, tracing every muscle and –

"But the next day you came to school in the longest clothing I've ever seen on you in my life." His easy smile scrunches into a frown and you stiffen, standing up abruptly and brushing the grass off you.

"Why are we even talking about this, it's stupid," you snap, shoving your hands in your pockets and turning away. You hear him sitting up behind you but refuse to turn back, setting your jaw and shuffling your shoes across the grass in the "most done with this shit" manner you can.

"Vriska, wait," he calls after you, but you're already around the side of his house, heading back to your own. His huge expanse of lawn makes the dramatic exit a bit awkward but you're used to it.

You remember what happened after the fun of that day, too.

You have a habit of tensing up and storming off every time he even hints at those times. They're horrible memories. Horrible. You like to think it's possible to forget about them but you know it's not. You like to think those times you spend with Equius are times you can use to help you forget your life at home. You're sure he must know of what your home life is like but usually he has the decency to not mention those times. But other days he mentions them. Those dark hours when you know nothing but your mother's hand leaving bruises on your body. He knows why, those days after, when you have to wear long clothing to cover up the damage. To keep it a secret. To hide yourself from the world. But you can't hide it from him.

It's panic. Every time he so much as alludes to that which you keep secret you clam up and leave before anything else can be said. You'd hate to admit it, but you get scared. You almost feel guilty for just up and leaving like that every time, but then you remember what your mother swears she'll do to you if anyone finds out about your life at home.

And then you're always glad you left.

Baby steps. Once out of Equius' line of view you take the smallest steps you can, knowing he won't follow but silently daring him to anyways. Your houses are stuck together: something called a duplex, you think and on top of being stuck together, your homes are identical: the same plain cream walls, the same brown trim, the same wood doors, the same half-dry front yard. Your houses have the same short driveway and the same shingled roof. They have the same dirty walkways, the same patch of brown that's supposed to be a garden. The only real difference is that the Zahhaks keep their house neat. It looks lived in and loved. Yours doesn't.

Once you cross his side yard it takes mere moments to arrive at the doorstep of your own home, even with the small steps. You make a point of taking as much time as humanly possible to return. This is pretty much the downside of your temper tantrums: you have nowhere else to go but home. The Zahhak family would invite you back into theirs without hesitation but you all know you're pretty much too stubborn to do it.

Stubborn isn't the word you'd use, though. Strong, more like. Or proud. You're not sure which but both sound better than stubborn. That word can be saved for the six year old little brats who won't share their crayons.

Before you even realize where you are your feet are suddenly light on the tile of your house, your ears straining for the smallest sound of your mother's presence. Your eyes adjust to the regular dimness as you slip out of your converse shoes and tiptoe upstairs. You pass the piles of books and papers around the doorway, the forgotten clothes and shoes by the stairwell. You maneuver around the trash and litter in the dark upstairs hallway with practiced ease, dipping into your room before anyone has a chance to even know you're home.

The light switch is somewhere near your head but you're too lazy to find it; instead you tiptoe around the random detritus littering your floor to your desk chair. The thing really is pitiful, worn and broken down as it is, but it's your chair. You acknowledge the fact that you may have ownership issues with just about everything. What's it matter?

You know the safety of your room is only a false comfort, but it's still your room. Perhaps the only place you can call sacred.

A space is cleared from the clutter of gaming dice and magic 8 balls to rest your head on the fake wood of the desk. You do so, groaning to yourself as your racing heart calms down and your eyes close. You made it this time. Sometimes you're not so lucky.

Sudden banging on your door as someone rudely barges in tells you this time you really weren't so lucky. Ugh. You force your aching head back up to glare at the intruder.

"Hey what the hell-"

"Get up," your mother snaps with her hands on her hips and a cold glare in her sunken eyes. You glare right on back, furious with her for her obnoxious entrance and demands. She's way taller than you, but somehow thinner although it looks like you couldn't get any thinner than you are. Her hair is platinum blonde, almost white: while yours is black, it's getting those telltale white strands that show you that one day you'll have her mop. You have the same icy blue eyes, the same pale skin, the same upturned nose, the same high cheekbones. You and she look almost exactly alike, actually: you share no traits with your father except for your rapidly fading hair color. She also never bothers dressing nicely, and why would she? All she does is sit at home and drink.

"I am up," you snap, irritated. "What do you want."

"Go to the store," she orders, gesturing at you with her bony hand to get out. You remain firmly planted in your seat.

"No," you say shortly, turning to turn on your laptop (a gift from your father: _she_ never gets you anything). She slides up and smashes the computer closed. You withdraw your hands with a hiss just in time.

"What was that for?" you demand, wheeling around in your chair to glare. She stiffens in that weird jerky way she gets when she's run out of alcohol. Suddenly you know what she wants.

"Go to the store," she says tightly, fists clenched at her sides. You open your mouth to snap back a retort but she slaps you before anything comes out. Your cheek burns and one of your own hands flies up to cradle it. "Now."

"Why the hell should I go for you?" you manage, giving her your best evil look. Your mother narrows her eyes even further.

"You'll get my shit or I'll make you wish you'd never been born," she spits, sweeping an arm across your desk and knocking everything onto the floor before storming out as suddenly as she came in.

You mutter obscenities under your breath as you kneel down to pick all the dice, pencils, and papers up and drop them back on your desk. A couple of your 8 balls shattered, leaking blue dye onto your shitty grey carpeting. Those pieces you toss at your twin sized bed; they hit the thin sheets instead of the trash can next to them but you don't care. Maybe now you'll hate them less. White sheets are stupid.

You stall as long as you can before you imagine you can hear your mother coming back up the stairs to yell again, at which time you duck out of your room with your cheek still stinging. It turns out that old bitch is slouched into the worn couch, sagging along with the cushions in front of the small television. You roll your eyes and pull a fifty out of her wallet before slipping back into your converse and leaving before she can yell and maybe hit some more.

She knows it's not even legal for minors to purchase alcohol. Actually you're not allowed to until you're, like, twenty? You're only seventeen. Why are you doing this? And how have you not been caught yet?

You guess you're just that good.

Feeding your mother's alcoholic habits isn't exactly a point of pride for you. In fact you hate the job. You've been going to buy the nasty shit for at least four years now, and by now you know what each kind is by the shape of the bottle or color of the glass, and you know what kind she wants by the way she acts. Today she was a lot nicer than she usually is. By nicer, of course, you mean less violent, and that usually means she wants one of the round tinted bottles. You never remember what they're called, but you know what they smell like and look like. Traces of them are all over the house.

It sort of amazes you how you've been going to the same shop for so long and they haven't paid any attention to your growth. You suppose you've always looked older than your age: when you were thirteen you apparently looked old enough to buy the beer and vodka for your mother, and though you've grown notably taller and you definitely look older apparently the difference between four years ago and now isn't huge, you just look older. One of your father's friends saw you last year and thought the makeup you were wearing made you look more mature.

You don't wear makeup.

The shop is a little less than a mile away and you don't know how to ride a bike so you have to walk there every time your mother demands it. The walk takes like ten minutes but at least it's getting cooler as the sun begins to set. The crumpled bill in your pocket is suddenly heavy. You don't understand why you get nervous every time even though you've been doing this for how long? And the clerks don't even check for an ID. They never have. They never will. But there's still something forbidding about this place, like you shouldn't be here. Really you shouldn't, but when have the rules stopped you?

God, you wish you were capable of following the rules.

You wish you were capable of saying no to your mom.

You wish your dad wasn't in the Middle East right now, like he's been for three years.

You wish he would come back.

You wish you weren't about to cry.

A little bell chimes as you open the swinging door and step into the dirty shop. The lights are dim and most are broken, the shelves are cracked and stained, and the metal counters are covered in dents. The people, even, are old and crusty and nasty, trying to get your attention but you know to avoid them now. The only things not filthy and broken are the rows of shining glass bottles and metal cans lining the shelves. You avoid all the dull and accusing glares and slip into the correct isle. It takes a mere moment to find the right bottles and you stock up, knowing that the fifty you have will get you about three.

The dark bottles are heavy, and they only get heavier with each gaze turned upon you as you approach the register. This happens every time and you do your best to look nonchalant, flippant even, about buying this shit like you do every week. Everyone stares but no one cares.

You wish they would.

Three dollars and nineteen cents' change. The bottles are packed away into brown bags and you try not to make it look like a struggle to pick them back up without a cart but it seems you fail. A tall, fit man, unlike the more common gross old geezers, comes out of the isle and picks the one slipping from your grip out with one hand and waits for you to adjust the others before handing it back to you.

"Thanks," you say shortly, turning towards the door and avoiding eye contact.

"Hey wait." His hand is heavy on your shoulder and you freeze, heart pounding. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. You keep your mouth shut and remain a semblance of calm.

"What do you want?" Your voice comes out smaller than it should have and you curse yourself for the show of weakness. Never do it again. Never.

He looks at you carefully before shaking his head. "Nothing."

"Mind letting go?" You attempt to shrug his hand off but the bottles don't allow it. He drops his hand and lets you leave the store without any more trouble.

As you exit you glance behind you and see that creepy guy talking to the guy at the register you were just at. What a creep. You hope he doesn't try to follow you or anything or you'll have to kick his ass royally. After all these years you'd think nobody from that place would mess with you. They must all be stupid.

You must be stupid for getting all worked up about that guy bothering you. Nothing ever happens.

The walk home is slow. Night falls and the stars are beginning to appear above your head. When you were younger you'd take the time during these walks back from the store to count as many stars as you could before you got home. Now you don't bother because you know that ninety-one stars appear from sunset to the time when you get home. It bores you.

You're not so easily entertained anymore.

The weight of the bags in your arms gets heavier still as you contemplate your fate. Your dad is with the army in a different part of the world, likely to never come back. He doesn't call you. He doesn't know. Likely he doesn't care, either.

Equius probably doesn't know either. You know he knows a lot of things but doing errands for your mother is something you've kept very secret. You could get in ridiculous amounts of trouble for it. What would he think if he knew? You shiver a little at the thought. The look in his eyes…. Neither of you have said anything about your home life but you know his opinion would change. You just know it.

He wouldn't be able to stand you. What if he realized how much better he is than you? What if he suddenly understood that you're just that low? What if he wouldn't talk to you anymore? You bite your lip and stare at the ground, shuffling your feet on the sidewalk. You wouldn't be able to handle it.

"Excuse me, miss?" A deep voice behind you catches your attention and you turn, annoyed at all these people who want to talk to you today! What is their deal –

Oh. _Shit._

"I'd like to see your age identification," the police officer opens the door of his car and steps out, holding out a hand. "You see, minors aren't allowed to purchase any form of alcoholic substance… and that seems to be what you've got right there."

Shit. Oh FUCK what do you do? You know you can't escape. You open your mouth but nothing comes out so you close it again, looking down the street. Goddammit, your house is RIGHT THERE –

"Miss?" The cop gives you a hard look. "If you don't have identification, you'll have to come with me."

You try to come up with a response. Nothing. Your house is like a hundred feet away and you know your mother won't come out. She's too lazy. Even if she did see, that old bitch would just let you get in trouble. Hell, you'll probably be in trouble with HER later. You bite your lip again, hard enough to draw blood, and say nothing.

"I'll hold your bags," he offers, "and you can look in your pockets?" He lifts two of the bags and sets them on the ground, then takes the other out too. You let your hands drop to your sides. Your heart is beating so loudly you're sure he can hear it too.

Cornered.

"Well, miss?" The officer folds his arms and waits. You shake your head.

"What if I'm not of age?" you demand as roughly as you can. "What're you gonna do about it? Arrest me?"

His jaw sets and he uncrosses his arms to grab yours. "I am going to have to do that, yes. In the car, please."

Fuck your life.


	2. Chapter 2

Your cellmate reminds you of Terezi. She's got the same chestnut brown hair that curls at the tips, the same greenish blue eyes, the same ridiculous attitude that she knows just about everything about everything (the attitude you loved until it was directed at you). One of the only differences between her and your old friend is that she doesn't laugh. It seems to her, nothing is funny enough.

You asked her name yesterday. Unlike Terezi, who would cackle and announce her name to the world more than willingly, your cellmate just scowled and snapped, "Monica." before turning away with an irritated huff. You sighed and turned to face your wall as well, chin supported by your hands as you stretched out belly-down on your hard mattress. She never was really the talkative type, which is a huge difference between her and Terezi. These two distinctions are actually something of a comfort to you, for whatever reason.

Today you take time, stretched out in the same position to wonder why you have to find so many similarities between one thing you know and another all the damn time. It gets frustrating but you can't help it. It's possible that it relates to your ownership issues thing, but you can't work out how. Monica clearly doesn't give two shits about anyone else anyway so there's no point in bothering her about it. You're sure you'll figure it out later, you assure yourself as you roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling, hard to see through the dark of no lights on and a steel door separating you from the hallway.

Juvenile hall has been your home for seven days. Your room is really a crappy jail cell shared with some other teenage delinquent you don't really care about. Your bed is a slab of cement with a blanket on it. Your desk and chair are steel, bolted to the floor. Your meals are constant, consisting of some mystery meat and limp veggies with interesting dressing on them and a glass of water or maybe a pint of milk with breakfast. You don't mind that so much but still. Jail food has a reputation for being of questionable quality.

During these seven days you've created your own sort of reputation. Once again you've been playing along with a face that is nowhere near your own. On your first night here you refused to put on the worn grey uniform shirt because of the yellowish sweat stains and instead requested a different, possibly newer one to wear with the standard black sweatpants. Apparently a lot of the other failures here took this as some sort of rebellion and started some moronic parody of a riot. They threw their food (earning some of them a beating or a trip to the detention hall) and argued with the officers. A couple days ago some of them made some weak attempt at almost managing to try to break out under your name – the nerve! – but that didn't go over well. They follow you in some sort of gang and listen to you when you tell them to fuck off or do something else cuz you don't want their company.

You keep the strong face on, the one who smirks at other's pain and laughs at any pleas for pity, but really you ache inside. You don't want to. But what you've heard and seen of juvie is more than enough encouragement. You don't want any of them to see who you really are. How weak you are. You won't let it happen.

Basically you've been miserable this whole week.

You suppose it must be better than home but not by much, and certainly it's bad in a different way. There's detention hall, which you'll never let yourself get stuck in again, and all the idiots you really don't want to be around, and the lack of privacy and personal space –

But then again, that one applies to your own home as well.

And the asshole security guards. They like to make sure you're doing exactly what they say. Hm that applies to your own house too.

Ugh, you're giving yourself a headache. Just… fuck everyone for a while.

You roll over in bed and stare at the ceiling, stretching out as much as you can without having limbs hanging off the small bed. What will you do if your mother never comes for you? What if you're stuck here forever? What if Equius never finds out you're here, and then you never get to see him again? You can't get yourself to imagine how terrible that would be. What would he think of you then? Would he think you ran away, or just didn't want to see him anymore? Or, what if he did find out, and he just doesn't want to visit?

The thought makes you sick to your stomach.

The voices down the hall don't sound quite like the guard rousing everyone for dinner; rather, it sounds like conversation? Interesting. Someone's parents have probably broken down and gone to pick up their poor spoilt child from the place they deserve to be in. They're all so lame, you huff to yourself as you curl up and away from the door, ready to hide from the harsh light in case it's Monica's family.

As the owners of the voices inch closer you realize you know one of them.

"I just don't understand how she could have done it," your mother's voice echoes down the cavernous hallway, through the thick door to burn your ears. "I mean I'd heard about problems from school but to think she would lie and steal my money to purchase alcohol-" her voice breaks, as if it's too much for her but you know better.

"Liar," you hiss as one of the security guards answers, "I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am, but hopefully her seven days in this facility corrected any issues that may have happened in the future."

"I suppose I must thank you," she says with a sigh, and you picture her giving the burly guard her most pitiful alone-mother look, "for helping my daughter."

"Oh god," you whisper, curling even farther away from the door on your slab of a bed and covering your head in a vain attempt to look like you're sleeping. You feel Monica's look from across the room.

"That your mom?" she asks, monotone.

"Yeah," you grimace. "I hate dealing with her."

"She sounds like one of those annoying clingy bitches," Monica sympathizes. "Least you have a mom who cares."

Every foul incident involving your mother runs through your mind and bubbles out in a bitter laugh. "As if."

You peek out at her from your arms to see her shrug. "She can't be that bad."

Confession time. "She's the reason I'm here." Your voice is muffled. Monica's sigh is loud.

"Well shit. Good luck."

"I do hope her stay here was educational," your mother's voice is suddenly a lot louder as the steel door creaks open and white fluorescent light floods your room from the entrance. You stare hard at Alicia Serket's silhouette on the ground as it comes closer. "But you know I couldn't bear one more day without – oh."

Her freezing gaze rests on you and you resist the urge to shiver, uncoiling from your little ball on your threadbare sheets to sit up and meet her eyes. The false cheer in her eyes stings more than her smoker's voice in your ears.

"Vriska!" she lunges forward and grabs you into some semblance of a hug. You feel her chapped lips on your forehead in a kiss that means nothing before you jerk away, rubbing your arms at the sudden chill in the room (maybe it came from the powerful AC units outside, or just your mom's presence). "Baby, I missed you! How was your stay? Did you get along with everyone?" Her questions are so fast you don't have time to answer before another one comes so you just shrug them all off with a, "Fine, mom."

She shuts her mouth and pulls you off the bed, dragging you across the room and out the door. You give Monica a desperate look, meeting her stunned stare. She shakes her head and lies back down.

You actually think you'll miss this place.

The process of actually leaving the facility takes about an hour. You are silent, accepting anything handed to you and signing anything required. No one else can tell, but you're scared. You know that your mother finally came to get you because she's sorted out your punishment. She smiles and thanks everyone before pulling you out of the building. The gate closes behind you but her grip on your wrist doesn't relax. You're sure you'll have a hand-shaped bruise there later and plan tomorrow's outfit to include your longer jacket, the grey one with the spider on it. Maybe you'll wear those dark jeans, too.

You waste a few minutes thinking about how to dress so as not to show all your marks, not realizing that your mom hasn't done or said anything since you left until you're half way home. The uniform grey houses pass by your window, giving way to the familiar browns as the car enters your neighborhood. Tension builds up within you as you approach your duplex, to the point where you can barely sit still for all the nervous tapping and fidgeting. Your mother refuses to meet your stare in the mirror so you're unable to tell what she's got planned. Usually she'll give you this look and you can tell when she's going to hit and yell or just hit and make sure it hurts. Not knowing just makes the wait worse.

A good five minutes later you can't keep your brave face on anymore. You keep glancing at the back of her seat to the rearview mirror but nothing: you haven't seen any more of her head than her hair and that little part of her forehead since you left juvie. Apprehension turns into fear, twisting your imagination until it creates a horror scene built from past experiences, playing over and over but getting scarier each time until you can't take it anymore.

"Mom?" you blurt, your unnecessarily loud voice stabbing the silence. Nothing comes to mind as to what to say next, though, so you close your mouth and watch her head in the mirror. The car slows and your heart rate picks up when she shifts in her seat. Your panic redoubles; what if you said something wrong? Too wrong? Must have been a big fuck up this time, usually she yells back. Shit shit shit, what if she -

The car slows to a stop. You finally glance away from the mirror to notice that you're parked on the side of the road, a few streets away from your own. The car is still silent. You wait for her to act first, well aware of the fact that if you so much as move an inch there'll be even more suffering for you later. Or maybe now.

Your mother still hasn't moved. You've gone back to twitching between the back of her head to the rearview mirror, fidgeting. Still nothing. Time passes; you remain parked in the same spot.

Then you see it.

Her ice blue gaze meets yours and you're frozen beneath it. The look, through the mirror, is full of cold fury, laced with poison, dripping dangerous intent. You forget how to breathe. There's murder in her eyes. Your gaze drops down to your lap as your fidgeting, previously struck into stillness, turns into shivers. Your hands are shaking. The car starts moving again and the next time it stops, you get out of the car obediently (silently) and follow your mother into your house. You close the door behind yourself and turn to face her.

Her hand buries itself into your hair and pulls back, forcing your head to meet the door with a loud sound that you don't hear past the sudden ringing in your ears. Again and again the back of your head crashes into the door, making you feel dizzy and cold. Some time later it stops and you have time to take a breath but regret it soon after: you feel like you're going to throw up. You slide to the floor with a stupid hiccuping sob as you bury your head in your arms and curl up into the smallest ball you can manage.

It feels like hours later when you're permitted to crawl upstairs: only after every inch of your body aches and throbs. Your mom has retreated to the living room with alcohol in her hands and a promise on her lips.

"Fuck up again, Vriska, and I will end you."

The safety of your room feels forever away as you make your way carefully up the stairs, each movement slow and deliberate in hopes of feeling the already swelling bruises a little less. Sometimes you hear your mom moving about downstairs and you panic, jerking forward in an effort to get there faster but she never tries to find you.

When the door closes behind you, you reach up with a shaky hand to lock it before dropping onto the thin carpet with an exhausted sigh. The dusty flooring is somehow just a little bit comforting, and you can ignore the small 8 ball fragments digging into sore spots with the knowledge that no other spot of your room is as clean as here, in front of the door. You'll have to clean up later, you know, as soon as you stop hurting in a million places. Of course no matter what you say to yourself the room never gets cleaned. It's just a habit you've developed, to realize all the shit on your floor does not make the after-a-beating soreness any better. Around this point you understand that having a clean room wouldn't really help either, so you drop the topic with yourself and close your streaming eyes. Rest now.

But a shuffling sound on the other side of the room rouses you. You pull yourself to a sitting position and from there, drag yourself into your closet. It's a small, cramped space even though it's empty, and the light died a long time ago but it's big enough to be called a walk-in and it has a door so you can shut yourself in with the hole right next to you. A few years ago in a fit of rage you threw an 8 ball as hard as you could and it burst through the thin plaster called a wall, into the room on the other side of the wall. You regretted it immediately and scurried over to the hole you made, 8 ball sized. Big enough to stick your hand through. Big enough to look through...

You looked through the hole. On the other side was a dim closet that mirrored yours, except it was full of towels and dark clothes as well as boxes with metal parts sticking out the top or piercing the sides. You realized it was Equius' closet and swore softly, leaning back against your own wall.

A few minutes later you heard his heavy footsteps, a sound of surprise, and some shuffling around. A mini pack of Swedish Fish, the kind you get on Halloween, popped out of the hole. You picked it up, puzzling over it and asking out loud, "What the fuck?"

Under the flap was a little sentence in the form of deep blue chicken scratch: D- I don't plan on returning your 8-ball.

That made you laugh so you grabbed the first thing within reach (a stick of gum) and wrote "i dont want that piece of shit back, th8nks ::::D" in cerulean ink on the flap before pushing it through the hole; a deep chuckle came from the other side, and your first closet conversation began.

Today a similar package of Swedish Fish waits for you underneath the hole you created all that time ago. You dive towards it with a grab at the same blue pen you've been using, sitting in the corner with a pack of gum.

D- Welcome back.

You smile widely and scribble a reply on the wrapping of a piece of blue mint gum. As you toss it through you pocket the Fish.

i thought id neeeeeeeever get back!

The reply comes quickly.

D- Care to elaborate?

m8ybe tomorrow

D- Anytime you desire.

How is he so amazing. Your happy smile dissolves into a sniffle, and from there full on tears. You curl into yourself, all your muscles aching as you do so. You barely register the small, painful sound from the other side.

**8**

You dig your longest clothing out from the pile at the foot of your bed and slip it on, refusing to look in your cracked mirror but catching sight of some of the deep purple and black bruising anyway. It hurts to look at more than it hurts to move.

Equius has some sort of electronic robot doohickey at his window that detects motion in his yard. Anything under ninety pounds isn't paid any mind, but over that and it lets him know. Two years it could never find you. Thanks to those stupid (delicious) Swedish Fish he knows when you're out there now, so you don't need to go up to his door and ring for him. Any time of day or night, he'll come out. The dark lines under his eyes continue to concern you (it's your fault, you know it) but he's assured you more than once that he often stays up to work on his robotics. You push the guilt away every morning you wake up too early and come to talk. Like today, you know you'll meet in his backyard. He'll come with some sort of pastry as breakfast, courtesy of his little sister Nepeta, and the two of you will talk about everything except you, and watch the sun rise.

He's waiting for you behind his house, two pastries in hand. He hands you the blueberry muffin and drops onto the grass. After a moment's hesitation, you join him on the ground, squirming around to get your jacket sleeves to pull farther down. You sit together in silence.

"Vriska?" After a long period of time he speaks, looking sort of uncomfortable. "You've become very… attached, since your absence. Is anything wrong?"

You realize you've been poking his foot with your own for however long and draw it underneath you, sitting on it firmly. "As if, Equius." You sigh noisily and toss your hair, assuring yourself that you covered up your slip efficiently. "What could possibly be wrong? Nothing's ever wrong. Duh."

If anything he looks more uncomfortable now (he always knows when something's wrong), sitting so his straight hair falls into his face. "If you're sure…"

You look at him closely, noting how he's beginning to sweat. He refuses to look back. "Whatever," you say when you lean back. Equius chooses not to reply.

The grass beneath you is suddenly itchy and uncomfortable so you sit back up and rub the grass off your hands onto your jeans. Vriska, you are such an idiot.


	3. Chapter 3

Equius' lacking presence over the next two days reminds you that you returned home on Wednesday. You've been staying home; on Thursday you mom smashed a bottle onto your left hand, bruising it and maybe cracking some bone or other but you remain unsure because it just hurt too much to check, even on Friday. You guess it was alright to stay home on Thursday cuz your mom left you alone and you did pretty much nothing all day, but yesterday it was boring even though she still didn't bother you. Your pet spider (something hairy and big) died at the start of this year, and even though you left her body in her cage there's nothing to do with her.

On the other hand, it could be your own fault that you're bored. You haven't actually spoken with your neighbor in the last couple days. After he gets home from school it's apparent that he's made a habit of tossing over a pack of Fish to let you know he's there to talk to, but you haven't responded. You've thought about this, actually, and yesterday mulled over why you haven't talked with him. No answer came to you.

Today your hand feels much better but there's a huge ugly bruise on it that you can't figure out how to hide for school and it still hurts too much when you touch it to really feel around for anything broken. It occurs to you that this may mean that something IS broken, but you can't find it in you to care. If your mom had to pay the bill she would likely re-break it herself and set it. Don't need to pay anyone to do that. Plus she would blame you for your injury. You don't really feel like dealing with that, so for the third day in a row you're lounging around your room. Today Equius is at work; you can tell by the dubstep pounding through the walls, and are content to sit there and listen to the sound of various machinery and music, curious as to what he's working on. Sitting here like this reminds you of the first time you heard something other than Nepeta singing (she's got an adorable voice) and being startled because Equius listens to this? but now you just sit and listen and enjoy.

Your mom has been downstairs for the last two days. When you peeked downstairs you saw her on her computer with a lot of papers in hand; probably taxes or something similarly stupid, you guess, and you aren't complaining. A busy mom is a mom that stays away from you until she gets too stressed. At which point she takes it out on you. But at least there's the peace before that happens. Maybe when she does flip her shit over actually having to work you'll watch behind a Plexiglas window with some popcorn.

A very loud crashing sound tears you out of your imagination (mom finally spilling her beer all over her laptop) quick enough for you to hear the muffled almost-expletive from the other side of your walls. Something must have happened to Equius' secret project or something. (You like amuse yourself trying to imagine him letting loose a casual 'fuuuck' rather than his 'fiddlesticks' but you know he never would.) Curious, you duck into your closet to peek through the hole in your wall but get an eyeful of smoke instead. Staggering back out, you cough and rub at your eyes to stop the stinging. Jesus, what happened? Is he okay?

"Vriskaaaaaaaa!" Your mom's screech from downstairs causes you to jump. With a last quick wipe at your eyes you hurry downstairs to see what she wants. Or needs, but that's less likely.

She's seated at the scratched and beaten wood table, the disused piece of crap too big to really fit in the dining room (also disused) but shoved in there anyway, and tilted to one side by the stack of general shit like super old papers and was that food last year? Ew. You make a note to start cleaning up around here, which of course will never happen but you gotta at least throw THAT out, before inching a little closer with your arms crossed. She's got a spot at the table cleared out, just large enough for, say, a folder to fit in the empty space.

"Feed me," your mother says imperiously.

What.

For a minute it seems like a joke, but then she raises one thin white eyebrow and rests her chin on her hands in a gesture that says "I'm waiting" and that's all the encouragement you need to dart into the kitchen and search for something readily edible. After tearing through the lazy susan you glance over your shoulder at her, just to make sure this isn't some sort of dumb trick and she won't stab you when your back is turned or something. Nope, she's just sitting there and watching you over the counter.

Most of the stuff in your kitchen is stupid stuff you can't put together, like vegetable oil and instant jell-o mix. This is really fucking frustrating, ugh. You're not a professional chef or anything. You've never even taken culinary class. But your mom hardly ever cooks and when it does it involves beer, which isn't so good so you generally take over the real meals. That only happens like once every month or so because the both of you live out of the freezer.

Which of course, the moment you need it, is devoid of anything delicious and easy to heat and eat.

In the deepest dark recesses of the pantry, behind the oldest food you don't even remember shopping for, you find one can of chicken noodle soup. The expiration date label says it's still good for another week, which makes you wonder when did you even get this because chicken noodle soup lasts forever, but that doesn't really matter because it's not expired and you can cook it so you shove it into the microwave (gross, you should clean it out) and grab a spoon or something. Actually it's a spork. Whatever, doesn't matter.

Her soup is served in three and a half awkward minutes and you watch her eat, not really hungry yourself on account of a year's worth of Swedish Fish upstairs. Your stomach isn't really wanting another little bag of them at the moment because obviously they all taste the same but it's now quite obvious that you have nothing in the way of actual food left in the house. You step back in unsuccessful attempt to sneak away; her head snaps up from her food and she orders you to stop. You freeze.

"This soup tastes old," she announces. "Don't we have anything else?"

"No," you mumble, fidgeting. She again frowns at her bowl, prodding the veggie chunks with her spoon and mumbling about meat. You wait for her to speak to you again.

"Go to the grocery store."

"Okay?"

You look at her, wondering exactly what you're supposed to get. Meat, maybe? And something for you? More soup, too, right?

"Why are you still here," she snaps suddenly, and you rush off to the door, snatching up her wallet as you hop into your converse and leave. The sheer stupidity of the whole situation confuses you, but you're not about to complain. At least she's not threatening to hit you if you don't leave. Yet.

Next time, maybe.

**8**

On Monday she drives you to school. Usually you walk, but not today, apparently. You spend most of the time in the car wondering if your mother has come down with some terminal disease. The rest of it spent hoping Equius isn't going to make himself late waiting for you to join him on the walk; he's done it before, and you always felt terrible about it. You left a quick note for him (mom's driving me, see you there) but he doesn't always check the closet before he leaves his room. The lack of communication drives you insane. It always brings you to the topic of a phone, but you don't have one and could never afford one. Ugh.

You arrive at school quickly enough. Your mom has never taken you to school before; honestly you're surprised she knows the way, but she drops you off in the right place quick enough. Unwilling to be caught in this sort of situation by anyone you know, you hop out as fast as you can. She calls you back, though. You groan and duck your head back in.

You've never invited anyone into your home, for obvious reasons. When you were younger, before all that bullshit happened when you were ten, people used to ask if they could. You never took the question to your mother. She would answer no, anyway. Or so you'd initially thought, but then you came to wonder: what if they did come over, and she hit them too? You would never put it past her, so you never had a sleepover before. You're not sure you could handle the stress of someone else staying over anyways.

"Vriska," she calls again, even though you're right there. Her voice is so loud you wince and almost open your mouth to ask her to quiet down. But that would be a bad idea; obviously the point is to not attract attention.

"What?" you ask quickly, silently willing everyone on campus away from you and your mother.

She gives you her serious look, blue eyes flashing and all. "You will not – " she pronounces each word carefully and clearly, but thankfully quiet enough that nobody outside the car could hear " – return to my home without going shopping for my favourite drink. If you do attempt to come back in, I will not hesitate to kick you back out until you have it."

Your stomach drops. She reaches for your door and you barely lean back fast enough before she slams it shut in your face. You watch her drive away as if nothing happened, as if she said "bye honey, love you" like any decent, stereotypical mother would. At least, that's what you've seen on TV.

You have no idea what to do. There aren't any shitty stores that don't check ID for booze anywhere. The only place you know of….

Eventually you unfreeze, stumbling backwards onto the pavement of the sidewalk before turning and slouching off to your locker like any other teenager who outwardly hates school. Truthfully you don't mind it all that much. You get decent enough grades, it's not really a challenge, people have left you alone since you were eleven (except her), and it's away from your own home. What more could you ask for?

Once inside the claustrophobic main hallway, you maneuver around the masses of other students in the mindless hunt for your locker (you could find it in your sleep), mentally reeling. Your brain is still trying to function but it keeps getting stuck at "not returning home until you get ahold of some quality booze". How the hell does she even expect you to do that? It's not like you can go back to that shady shop a mile off from your house anymore: you fucked that one up to the point of no return, literally. Your feet lead you to your locker and you spin the combo ( 2, 4, 2, which of course makes 8. Your amazing amounts of luck in a very small amount of things landed you with a locker that has something to do with your favourite number. Go you.) and, upon opening the door, realize that you were so distracted that you didn't think about what classes you'll have today. Yeah. Go you.

A quick sweep of your arm sends all your textbooks and notebooks tumbling into your battered backpack, bending pages and denting up covers and certainly stretching out your old bag more than it needs to be stretched but right now you could care less because they're all ancient anyways, right? You can't pay it enough mind to give two shits about all that. Your new dilemma is consuming all your attention as it nags you more and more with the cold reality of it. Shouldering your locker shut, you turn to stomp off but get an eyeful of purple and ginger instead. Purple hair drifts down to the same shade on contacts, then a striped scarf, sweater vest, and artfully torn jeans. Clearly expensive violet and teal loafers to match the scarf kick dust up from the dirty tile floors. Eridan Ampora leans against the locker next to yours with a pose and a smirk meant to look casual. You remain unsurprised that it didn't work.

"Why, Vriska," he sneers, "how lovely to see you."

An eyeroll should serve as a sufficiently good answer. This and an attempt to step around his skinny self is interrupted by his moving in front of you. He smirks.

"Now, Vris, it's rude to walk away when someone's talking to you," he chides, as though he's at a higher standing than you. Despite all efforts to ignore him and stay calm, that pisses you off.

"Goddammit, Eridan," you snap, giving him the full force of your glare, "what the fuck do you want?"

"I was just curious to see if you've done what I said yet," he says snippily with a toss of his head – not one hair moves. "But I see you didn't. What a shame."

"What are you talking about," you say flatly, far from interested. You can tell this is going to take a while. He never leaves you alone once he starts up.

Eridan looks offended, leaning away from you and crossing his arms with a sort of pout you're all too familiar with: it brings back memories of your middle school relationship.

"And here I thought you'd take my words seriously," he sniffs, "what with our extensive history an' all." Here you snort derisively but let him continue. "Guess you wouldn't know how to put on makeup anyway, you'd look like Gamz."

"Are you seriously making fun of the local druggies behind their backs?" you scoff with a toss of your hair. Aim for dramatics, Vriska. It always hides what you're thinking. "Pathetic, Eridan."

But what he said stirs a vague memory, and when you focus on it you remember him telling you with utmost seriousness that a certain kind of makeup would "enhance your features, Vris, I mean you're pretty enough but a nice shade of blue on your lids would really make your eyes stand out."

"I can say what I want," he retorts. "_I_ know how to dress properly."

"What the hell does that even –" you start up, irritated, but someone's sudden presence to your left startles you and you jump, surprised into momentary silence.

"What's up, my brother?" The voice is scratched and slow but somehow still pleasant, just like its owner. Gamzee comes around and gives a stiff Eridan a half hug, tossing you a lazy grin you don't know what to do about so you just half wave or something, you don't really know.

"Gamz," Eridan greets him, ducking out of Gamzee's hug. He looks distinctly uncomfortable, probably wondering if the druggie next to him heard anything he'd said.

"Sup, Vriska?" Gamzee is still looking at you but this time raises his hand in greeting. "I heard from Karbro that you came back so I all up and planned a party for you. Wanna come?"

You blink, surprised and still sort of speechless. "Uh, sure?" Gamzee's sorta weird. Inviting you to a party for you? Why would he even care? You bet Karkat bitched like crazy and tried to persuade him not to do it. But this is Gamzee, and he's got a thing for parties. Usually they have questionable baked goods and copious amounts of alcohol –

Wait.

Alcohol.

"Well, before you ask me, I'm not interested," Eridan sniffs, drawing himself up to his full height (which is like half an inch taller than you and way shorter than the clown-painted senior slouching next to him) and bids you a quick goodbye before turning and trying to stride off or something but it didn't work. Still not surprised that he's trying airs that don't suit him. He's been doing that since middle school.

"Alright, sister, I'll see you there," Gamzee's still smiling. He wipes a white-painted finger on his torn up grey pajama pants and turns to leave as well. Before you really think about what you're saying or doing, you grab his arm and say, "Wait."

"Yeah?" He looks vaguely curious. You… have no idea what you're going to say. Your brain just jumped from "getting beer once" to "needing beer later" and "Gamzee" and you came to some sort of understanding you haven't quite processed yet.

So now you're standing there, mouth open and urgent expression, still holding his arm. He smiles a little again.

"I got you," he assures you, but you're not sure why he's doing that. Why is he assuring you? What-?

"Um," comes out of your mouth and you're thinking what the hell Vriska what even are you doing you look so stupid.

His smile widens a tiny bit but it doesn't reach his eyes. Dark brown, searching. Kind of weirding you out with how clear they are – you'd expect his gaze to be less sharp, considering all the drugs he downs however often a day. But no, he's looking at you. And there's something he understands that you don't really think you want him to understand. Or maybe you do. But he knows.

Gamzee knows.

"We can call it a relationship, right?" he asks, still looking at you in that weird way that makes you uncomfortable. "You an' me. And you can come over any time. Nobody's gonna ask questions if we're that thing – what does Karbro call it? – a couple."

Your mouth closes. He does know, how does he know? That is so fucking bizarre, how did he find out? It worries you. No, it scares you. Gamzee is a lot stranger than you thought, and apparently some sort of psychic, or you're not as secretive as you thought. But you swear you never hint at anything!

He's still talking. "People like you an' me, we gotta stick together. Even if you scare me a little," he adds with a rueful half-grin. "I'll help you out."

"Okay," you finally manage, but some part of you understands what he's understanding. The rest of you has yet to catch up, though, leaving you half confused, half giddy as hell. When was the last time you were in a relationship? Eridan? "That would be – yeah, okay."

"Awesome," he says, and leans in for what you realize is a kiss. Oh god, you do not do relationships, you are way too awkward, but you close your mouth anyway and let him kiss you on the cheek. "See you tonight, sis," he says with a wave, and then he's gone.

You use your entire English class (turns out it's a core class day, you didn't need anything but your math and science textbooks and your English notebook) sorting out what transpired in that thirty second time span. You've taken stock of your life at the moment: your mom wants and will be wanting a steady alcohol supply, Gamzee somehow knows about that, so he made you two a couple. Now you can go over and get some from him anytime.

Or at least, that's how far the rest of you has caught up. What the everloving fuck were you thinking, you are so stupid! (You've been toying with the concept of how he called you a 'sis' but you're apparently going out with him? The thought tickles you and when you first thought of it you had to choke down your laugh. You're going to need to learn more about him.) You didn't even say anything! It's eating you up that you just let him make the decisions based on what he thinks he knows (which is true, maybe? And what did he mean when he said 'people like you and me'?). But do you mind? It's actually kind of nice that this decision made for you isn't a bad one.

But one of the biggest thoughts nagging at you now is, you are way too awkward for a relationship. The last one you had was with Eridan, king of weird, so your relationship in middle school was more like mutual awkwardness until he got too bizarre and you never really got anywhere anyways, so what was the point? Uuuuuuuugh, now you're rambling about stupid things like a girl. Great. (But you are a girl…)

What Equius will think doesn't cross your mind until you feel his eyes on you and everyone's whispers all around you in math class. That's when the guilt starts. But, you argue with your own feelings, you have nothing to feel guilty about! He doesn't even know why you're letting this happen to you, so. So. Um. So he can deal with it!

But the thought of his hurt makes you want to curl up into a ball and hide from him and the rest of the world.

**8**

Thankfully you avoided everyone you know at school today, but random people still came up and asked you "why Gamzee?" And you answered "fuck off" and they left and you asked yourself "why Gamzee?" and it was just a huge mess of weird feelings and discomfort and you're just soooooooo glad you can go to this stupid party, hang around, then make off with something quality for your mom so you can go to bed. You didn't go home to dress up so you're walking around Gamzee's neighborhood in your jeans and high collared jacket, a little too hot and more than a little too lost. He tossed a paper with his address to you in chemistry (Karkat was tossing you death glares and you were half-expecting him to jump up and start screeching at you at any time) and you're trying your best but – oh, there it is. You can tell by the pounding music and the rainbow lights. Also the people. So many people, the crowd is spilling out of the house to the lawn. You steel yourself for a nightmare and come near.

The laughter and mindless chatter pauses as you pass and everyone gets a good look at you. Yay public humiliation. But then Gamzee's there, waiting for you at the door in the same outfit he was wearing at school (relief) and he greets you and hugs you and walks you in. The background noise resumes.

Being Gamzee's girlfriend doesn't mean very much, apparently, besides having a face and sitting next to him at his parties. Occasionally he asks you a question or offers you something. This goes on until about midnight when he sends everyone home, including you with an armful of bottles of stuff (these go in your backpack) and you walk the couple miles home, his kiss still warm on your cheek.

She's waiting for you when you get home. Standing just inside the door, arms crossed, your mom doesn't say anything. She does hold out her hand, though, and without looking her in the eye you take off your backpack and hand it to her. She opens it with her other hand and that's it, you're dismissed. Without bothering with your backpack, you step around her and go upstairs. At this point you find yourself drained, run out of emotion. Done.

There's a note in the form of red gummy fish waiting for you in your closet. With a sigh, you flop onto the floor and grab at both your blue pen and the pack of Fish.

D - Why Gamzee?

Your heart twists.

Because reasons. Why do you care?

D - Don't be foolish, we're friends. Of course I care.

Okay well sorry, but it's not really your business.

That sounded rude. You mentally hate yourself for it.

D - Alright.

Alright what?

D - I've never seen you speak to him before, is all. Why not someone you know better? Why not -?

The last word is small, but scribbled out so that you can't read it. You stare at it closely, trying to see past the cover up, but it's no use.

Why not what?

D - Never mind that. You should get some rest.

Okay sure. Night.

D - Good night.

** 8 **

AN: Sup, guys! I'm super sorry for the wait what a terrible person I am ohgod. SO SORRY YOU HAVE NO IDEA. But at least it's finally finished! Just wanted to let you know my twin sister and moirail is doing the Equius point of view for this story! Find it here AND GO READ IT GOGOGOGOGOGO: art/Simply-Blue-Chapter-1-319424464 Thanks so much 3


	4. Chapter 4

Wow I really suck at constant updates. I think I'm settling to about one chapter a month.

Oh my god guys I had like a third of this done the week I posted the last chapter, but I was so busy wanting to write the chapter after this one that I never got to this one.

No I did not start on chapter five yet. But I will. And since I want to write it so damn bad it'll probably be out quickly enough. Within a fuckin month, anyway.

Anyway, thanks a ton for reading! Reviews make my week, not even my day, as do follows and all that! But I like reviews even more /shot shot

Psst. Let's just consider this chapter to be so much filler. Again, the next one is the one I really wanna write, so you know shit's gonna go down.

You meet Equius on the sidewalk outside your houses as usual. He seems briefly surprised but you're not really sure; he's wearing his cracked sunglasses, which is a silent plea to just walk and not talk. Taking this a cue, you nod at him and he nods back and you walk to school in silence. You'd expected it to be really awkward, but it's natural. Almost comfortable. You and he often simply sit and enjoy each other's company, and this is hardly different. But while you can't begin to guess what's going through his head, your own thoughts are filled with last night's closet conversation. You keep trying to push the thoughts away but his crossed out words are just bothering you so much and you want to ask him, even though you know you'll respect his wishes the whole walk to school and keep quiet.

As it turns out, you weren't as prepared for being Gamzee's girlfriend as you thought. The second you step onto school campus, Feferi bounces up to you with an excited grin and drags you away from Equius before you or he can say anything. He watches the both of you leave as you flail helplessly and demand that she tell you what the hell she thinks she's doing, an order that falls on deaf ears.

"FEFERI." You dig your heels in and cross your arms in an attempt to get her to stop. She lets go of the hood of your jacket so quickly you almost fall over but of course you don't, you just stumble a bit and straighten. When you turn to face her, that grin is somehow even wider than it was a minute ago.

"Vriska!" she squeals, jumping around a bit in her excitement. Her ridiculously long auburn curls bounce around with her, going pretty much everywhere but you pretend not to notice. "Vriska, since when were you and Gamzee together?"

"Since like…. yesterday?" You give her a look that should tell her that it's not even this big of a deal but of course she ignores it and chooses to make it a huge thing that warrants dragging off at random.

She squeals louder and dances around, flailing and pretty much weirding you out. "That's so glubbing GREAT, Vriska, I can't believe it!"

"Uh… huh." There she goes with the fish puns again. More efforts at not rolling your eyes: this is starting to wear you out. "Well I'm glad you're happy and all but why did you have to drag me off to... the bathroom?"

You note that she did, in fact, bring you to the first school restroom in the main hall, the tiny one with only two stalls right next to the entrance doors. This one has only one light above the mirror: really the only decent amount of light you're getting is the morning sun. The sun dust flies around, gold like the color of Feferi's hair in the light.

"Because," she says, suddenly still and serious, "Eridan told me."

"And?" You hardly even remember seeing that asshole yesterday, much less what he told you.

"And he pointed out that he's never seen you wear makeup! And then I thought about it, and I realized that neither have I!"

"Your point?"

"My point is," she says brightly, "that it's important to look your best for your significant other."

Eugh. Significant other. That makes you and Gamzee sound like thirty year old dating website users. You shake your head. "No makeup, fish girl. Sorry."

She twists her pink skirt around in her hands, pleading with her eyes. "But Vriska! Eridan may seem a bit rude but he's totally right, blue is your color-"

"Why would I start wearing makeup now, if I wasn't wearing it when Gamzee and I became… a thing…" augh awkward award goes to you, Serket. "Yesterday. Doesn't that mean I don't need it?"

"Nobody would say no to a smoother complexion!" she declares, whipping a brush from her shoulder bag. You let out a long-suffering sigh and let her do whatever she wants. This is Feferi, cheerleader and trendsetter and naggy popular person who hasn't let the high-school-girly part of you die since you met. No arguing with her.

**8**

Oh god is that a sharpie.

**8**

Half an hour later, you're staring at the person in the mirror who, no way, can't possibly be you. Feferi beams over your head with some sort of makeup or other in one hand and a teeny tiny brush in the other (Turns out that sharpie was actually some stuff in a sharpie shaped container but really you're supposed to use it to make your eyelashes look longer, but apparently you didn't need too much of it for whatever reason. This shit makes no sense to you.) but you're not really paying attention to what she's saying, just staring at yourself and the magic she worked to make you actually pretty. Like, legitimately good-looking. You're speechless.

"So I think I did an alright job with your face," Feferi is still talking, "and you really look great! You should totally wear makeup more often!"

You nod. All the uneven patches on your skin have been smoothed out and just

Wow.

"Only one thing," she continues. "Your face is one color, because of the makeup, but it's a good idea to apply some to your neck and such so it looks even! See, I'll put this on over here –"

She tugs at the high neckline of your shirt and you instinctively swat her hand away. She backs up an inch, surprised.

"What's the matter?" she asks.

"N-nothing." You drop your hand quickly, silently cursing yourself for the slip up. You don't even think there's anything there, so why did you have to go and make things all suspicious? Fucking idiot.

"Are you sure?" Feferi looks worried, concern creasing her brow, but she doesn't make to move at your collar again.

"Yeah," you answer with a sigh. "Sorry, I just spazzed for a minute-"

The sound of the door opening behind you cuts you off. Fef peers over your shoulder curiously you know by the way the visitor freezes who walked in.

"Serket," Terezi says coolly. You answer with barely a nod, opting to study the cracked tiles beneath your feet rather than look at her. It hurts to. There's more to Terezi Pyrope than her eyes, but every time you've looked at her since middle school all you can see is past her gaudy red shades to the chemical burns, and the cloudy teal color of her once beautiful blind eyes.

_i You did that to her./i_

"So um," Feferi attempts to fill the silence as Terezi taps away with that red and white cane to find the stalls. "I think you look perfectly presentable so we should go show Eridan!"

"Aw, Fef, no," you complain instantly, but still have no choice because again, this is Feferi Peixes and she's gonna drag you off to see Eridan. With a happy sort of skip… thing, she collects all her makeup brushes and other torture devices into her purse and has you out the door before you can even ask how she knows where he is.

Now that you think about it it's not too hard to find Eridan when you know more about him than just his purple hair and shitty attitude. Feferi apparently knows at least as much about him, too. She's got you by the arm and is still skipping as she pulls you into the library. Not only does she know which part of the school to go to, she knows exactly what shelves he'll be near: the fantasy section.

He's huddled on a stool in the corner, curling around a ridiculously thick book in his lap. You've never seen him reading so closely in your life, and you've seen him reading a lot.

Feferi clears her throat quietly, and he jumps so hard the book falls from his lap and his glasses nearly fall of his face. You stare as he adjusts himself quickly, swiftly tucking the fallen tome into a shelf behind him and sorting out his scarf (cerulean and violet today, what a weird color combination) before standing and turning back to the two of you.

"Hey," he says with odd formality, and then you realize it's him trying to be casual. Oh god no stop. "What's up?"

Fef giggles, brushing her long hair out of her face and pulling you forward. You stumble and try not to fall on top of him, giving her a look. "Look!"

At first his little once-over is dismissive. "Who's this?" Then you cross your arms and glare, and he understands.

"Holy fuckin shit," he gasps, backing away an inch. "Fef, did you-?"

"She looks great with makeup, doesn't she?" Fef chirps, hopping over to hug me. I sigh. Dramatic much?

"Yes okay, you both were right and makeup looks nice on me," you acknowledge their fashion sense or whatever, to make them happy, and Feferi claps, delighted.

"You were right, Eridan!" she says cheerily. "Blue was a nice color to choose!"

"It is," he approves. "I really like how you did the eyeshadow, it brings out her eyes."

Mindlessly standing here seems like a good option while they jabber on and on about things you could never hope to understand. This works for about, maybe three minutes, before you clear your throat and announce that you have to go to class now.

"Don't get me wrong, this little get-together was soooooooo great, but I really gotta go," you back up a few inches while Feferi pouts.

"Aw, don't be silly, the bell doesn't ring for another four minutes!" she says brightly, without even checking her watch. How the hell –

Eridan checks his phone to make sure, then hands it to Fef, who drops it into her purse (haha nope, he'll never see that again). "She's right," he affirms. "Just stay here another minute and let me admire your temporary good looks. I know you're never gonna look this nice again."

"Rude," you huff, but you don't need to do anything but hate for a few seconds cuz Fef's gonna – yep, she whacks him hard on the shoulder and he winces.

"Ow, Feeeef," he complains, but she won't hear it.

"That's mean, Eridan," she glares, eyes narrowed, and he sighs.

"You know what I meant," he grumbles. "You're a makeup master, and she's not gonna be able to replicate that."

"She can try!" Feferi argues, but you interrupt.

"WHAT. Who says I'll ever do this again?!" you protest. "I thought this was a one-time deal!"

"Nope!" Fef winks. "Eight times, at least."

That's it. You give up, officially. As you start falling back into your mind mush state, she suddenly smacks your hand.

"What?" you ask, bewildered.

"Don't touch your face!" she shrills, staring at you. "Especially not your eyes! Don't you dare touch your eyelids!"

"W… why not?" Truth be told you didn't even realize you were doing it. Since when were you touching your eyelids?

"So you don't mess up your beautiful makeup," Eridan states, "obviously."

Oh yes. i _Obviously_. /i

"Um. Okay." This apparently is going to be very difficult for you. Suddenly you're feelings movements everywhere: your foot is tapping, the offending hand dropping back to your side while the other plays with the hem of your shirt…. And your left eyelid itches. Whoa.

The bell rings loudly right above your heads, making you all jump. You snatch up your ancient Jansport bag instantly.

"Welp, time to go. Byeeeeeeee!" And you're gone.

"Bye!" Fef calls after you. Eridan says something too, but you don't hear it. You're already gone, and glad to be. Until of course you run headfirst, literally, into someone at the library entrance. Your first thought, ironically, is did you mess up your makeup? But there's none of it apparent on the person's shirt so –

Hang on. The shirt. You recognize this shirt. It's grey, with a deep purple Capricorn sign and black stripes. Which means the owner is Gamzee. You look up.

Yup.

"What's up, sis?" He grins through a thin layer of face paint which surprisingly suits him, wow you'd never have expected that. It occurs to you that, hey, you're both wearing face paint today. Except yours is of the feminine sort. Yay.

"Hi, Gamzee," you respond, patting his chest where you ran into him. "Sorry about that. What're you doing here?"

"Lookin for you," he's still grinning. "Equi-bro said you'd be here. I just wanted to know how you're doing."

Equi-? Oh. Equius. How did Equius know you were here? You bite your lip, guilty. You must have passed him and hadn't noticed.

"Vriska?" He peers down at you and you wish you were above shoulder height on him.

"I'm good, I was just talking to a friend and also Eridan," you tell him, shaking your head to get your hair out of your face. Don't touch the makeup. (Jesus this is hard.) "What's up?"

"I erm." He fidgets for a second, suddenly looking extremely uncomfortable. The thought of Gamzee being uncomfortable doesn't do good things to your heart. What's so bad that he would shy away from it? You've heard him talking about the worst things ever without so much as a laugh or cringe. "I know I talked about us going out and shit, but Karkat said I should apologize and all that so-"

"What for?" You interrupt him, curious, and he blinks down at you.

"Well he said I didn't really let you talk so."

"Oh." Aaaaaaaawkward. "No, um, it's okay. I mean, like you said yesterday, it's a um. Thing. And."

Oh god this is really terrible. You're both sitting here fidgeting enough for a whole class of kindergarteners and it's so awkward and wow okay. Good going, the both of you.

"Right well." He clears his throat. "So long as you're okay with it all, I uh, guess I'll be tellin' Karbro you're good. And um," he adds quickly, "you don't have to do anything you don't wanna."

"Yeah. That sounds good." You stare at the ground, face burning. It's a really unattractive thought, but you can't get those stupid cartoons of girls blushing so hard you can fry an egg on their foreheads. Yuck. But that's how you feel right now ew, what if your face is so hot you're melting your makeup?!

Fef would kill you. You would die a painful death because of makeup. Oh dear god no.

"Now that's outta the way," you both relax instantly at the change of subject, "I wanted to tell you you look really nice today."

"Oh, um. Thanks," you mumble. "Fef did it." But even though you're embarrassed, it still feels nice to be complimented. Really nice.

"She should do my facepaint," Gamzee declares so randomly, you spend a moment gawking at him. But the stare doesn't last long, cuz out of nowhere you're laughing hysterically and he laughs too.

**8**

You don't see Equius on the walk home. You'd waited around for about ten minutes at your usual meet-up spot, but he doesn't come. He's never been late before. It sort of worries you, but at this point in the day talking and joking with Gamzee and Feferi has made you so happy nothing can ruin your mood. Nothing. You're still not sure how Gamzee happened, but whatever. It feels good to act like a normal student and though those two are the only ones who would make you feel like one, everyone else still hates you. Fuck them, man. Just. Fuck them. You're too damn happy to care.

With a gusty sigh, you take huge steps and hop down the stairs off school campus. You got a few compliments today from people you hardly know. You avoided Tavros and didn't see Terezi the rest of the day, and anyone else who has a particular grudge against you except Karkat, cuz he glues himself to Gamzee's side at breaks but he didn't say anything against you so ha.

The sky is overcast, the weather is cooling off, it'll be your birthday soon… and you're going home. Not an issue. Nothing your mom can throw at you will take you down today. Down the cracked sidewalk, through the dead grass, right up to the ugly door of your home. In goes the key and you turn the lock, only hesitating for a moment before you hop in.

Nobody's home. At least, it looks like it. Your mom isn't on the couch and neither is her laptop. You creep through the house, curious, but you can't find her. With a shrug and a little hummed song, you go upstairs to drop your bag into your room before grabbing your own laptop and flopping on the bed. Of course, you resolved to clean it today but you know that's never going to happen. Your room hasn't been clean for years, so why change the habit now? There's no reason to. Exactly.

"VRISKA." Your mom's voice is suddenly very loud and very nearby. You jump out of bed and leave your laptop behind, peering out of your room.

"What?" She's down the hall with her arms crossed and her hair a mess. Is that - ? Is she wearing a skirt?! Why?!

"Vriska," she spies you instantly, "give me your comb and nylons."

"What for?" You toss out behind you as you duck back into your room to find what she needs.

"I'm going on a business trip," she announces, waiting in your doorway. "I will be back in sixteen days."

You freeze. Sixteen days? More than two weeks of her not being here? You just

Feelings –

Laughter bubbles out of you and you toss her the two things she needed with a, "Sorry, I've only got Natural."

"No Sheer?" She stares at the pack of nylons in dismay. "Fuck, Vriska, you're practically whiter than me, what're you doing with a shade so dark?"

"You're the one who got them for me," you remind her. "Now go pack! When does your flight leave?"

"Don't you tell me what to do," she snaps, but then looks at her watch and swears colorfully. "I'll be out of state in two hours. Don't you dare burn the house down!"

Ten minutes later she's bundling herself out the door with two suitcases and a carry-on, hair done in a simple bun by you and a bag for her laptop hanging out of one of the suitcases.

"You look beautiful," you beam. "Bye!"

She grumbles but you close the door after her before she can say anything. She doesn't have enough time to beat the shit out of you now, so she'll have to save it for when she gets back.

You run upstairs to tell Equius the news, whenever he gets home. Life just can't get any better right now.


	5. Chapter 5

I am such a terrible fucking person ugh yes you have permission to shoot me. Originally I intended for this chapter to be like, the longest one I'll ever write for this fic but instead it's ended up being the shortest. I. Am deeply sorry. Perhaps with feedback I'll get the motivation to pick this back up but. Ugh. Also points if you can find the secret plot bit I decided to make more obvious than I have (which really means I haven't said anything about it).

"Being honest, you two ladies sorta scared me before we all started meeting up like this."

"Whaaaat?!" Feferi cries, leaning forward from her comfortable slouch against the tree with Eridan to stare at Gamzee. You reach forward and snatch her bright pink sunglasses off her head as she protests, "Why me?" It's awfully bright outside and if she's not going to use them for what they're meant to be for instead of pushing her hair back from her face then you will. The deep tint instantly lessens the strength of the bright afternoon sunlight; you probably look ridiculous with the big fuchsia rims but you can't bring yourself to care.

"You've got a lotta power in this school," Gamzee points out smoothly, leaning back and using his arms to prop him up. "Not that I need to be worrying, but being where you're at in this whole social order thing's pretty motherfuckin' scary, don'tcha think?"

"I guess…." It's not Fef, but rather Eridan who looks a bit pouty about the whole thing as she leans back against the tree. You roll your eyes behind her shades.

"I don't even need to ask why for me," you grumble, inching up to rest your head on Gamzee's knee. He sighs and drops a hand on your stomach. The whole touchy-feely thing is still a bit weird but you're getting used to it. It's a little easier to handle knowing that he's not huge on doing anything serious in this "relationship" either, if it can even be called that. Really it's just you having an excuse to go to his house and walk away with booze any time you'd like. It works for you, because nobody would question it… and you're actually not sure how it works for him. All you've seen is him spending less time with his other friends and more time with you and Feferi. You acknowledge that this isn't a thing you would normally give two shits about, but this time Gamzee's the one involved and he has been nothing but nice to you.

Oh. Eridan's been hanging out with you, too. He snuck in and starting coming over with Fef ever since the makeup thing started. It turns out that he actually knows what he's talking about and has given more than a few good pointers these last few days as Feferi teaches you how to apply it. Doesn't stop him from being a jerk, though, or from you more than occasionally wanting to pound his face in.

"Obviously cuz you're a fuckin psychopath," the asshole himself puts in snidely, and you give him the finger. He scowls and Gamzee sighs again.

"It's true you had a pretty motherfuckin intimidating reputation," he agrees, "what with Tavbro and Terecita an' all that. There was someone else, too, right? A something."

"Aradia," Feferi supplies quietly. You stare up at the leaves, trying your hardest to pick out each leaf as you look at it. That old incident has been picked over so damn much these last few years it hardly hurts to hear about anymore. But that doesn't mean it doesn't bug you. It definitely bugs you.

"Yeah." Gamzee nods at Fef and continues. "But you're not all bad like they said you are, are you?"

Still quiet, you just shrug. He squeezes your arm, for whatever reason. Sometimes he does small things like hugging you or feeding you chocolate or something weird like that for no reason at all, at complete random.

"Naw," he answers his own question with a small smile. You briefly consider returning it, but Fef strikes first, pulling her sunglasses off your face as quickly as you snatched them out of her hair.

"Thank you!" She smiles and puts them on her own face; of course they suit her perfectly, even matching the pink clips in her hair. "I understand these glasses are just so glubbing fashionable, but they don't appreciate being stolen, Vriska!"

"Borrowed." You stick your tongue out at her in a fit of immaturity, while squeezing your eyes shut against the sudden bright light. "You weren't using them, so I thought I would."

"Aren't your glasses transition lenses?" Eridan asks out of nowhere. You open one eye to squint at him and he shrugs.

"What the hell is that," you say flatly, closing your eye again.

"Those glasses that darken in the sunlight," he answers.

"Oh. Yeah, they are." Your mind is still on my death, and even though the topic has been worn to shreds it still bothers you, just a bit. Sometimes I just wish you'd move on, but it can't be helped. You don't know how to let go. Of course, this bothers you too.

_Your fault. All your fault. _Kind of a lame train of thought, but whatever. This is you, and you're kind of stupid.

"How come you haven't been wearing them lately?" Feferi asks curiously, and you open your eyes again to get a faceful of her hair. She laughs as you huff and puff and try to get it out of your face without moving. It doesn't work.

"Um, because." She gives you a look, finally pushing her hair behind her shoulders.

"Because of the makeup?" Eridan guesses. Your face heats up and you refuse to reply, embarrassed.

"Aww, that's so sweet!" Fef squeals and sits back. "But you need to be able to see, don't you?"

"Eh." You sit up and shrug, trying to push the dark thoughts away and, of course, failing miserably. "One of my eyes has really shitty vision, but the other's all right, so they balance out well enough."

Gamzee's been silent this whole time. It occurs to you that perhaps he's been thinking on that whole… incident, fiasco, colossal fuckup… as well, for a while. Time to get out of here, you decide.

You stretch while standing, grabbing for your bag. "I gotta go."

"Why?" Eridan asks, looking up at you from his comfortable spot against the tree. You shrug again, doing your level best to act casual as fuck, like nothing's up.

"It's starting to get dark and I just, eh." The half-truth comes out simply enough and you gesture vaguely around at the empty campus. "It's pretty much just us now. Soon the security guards are gonna try and kick us out anyways."

"As if you'd let them," Fef scoffs, grinning.

"Of course not," you sniff, "they couldn't move me an inch from where I wanted to be."

"By my side forever?" She flutters her lashes dramatically, earning a snort from Eridan beside her. You finally grin back.

"Forever and ever," you answer. Gamzee busts up laughing behind you.

"What about me?"

"You too," you amend, smirking as you add, "but not Eridork."

"WHAT?!" He is outraged, rightfully so, as you've been mocking him endlessly ever since you found out his hipster glasses had the smallest prescription ever.

"Anyways," you say breezily, whisking around and waving, "I'm going now. Bye."

"Wait!" Fef scrambles to her feet behind you and you face her, eyebrow raised. "Let us come with you!"

"What. No," you say immediately, biting back the little dark thoughts of _what if mom comes home early and you're there-?_

"Why not?" She's got that puppy eyes pleading look that is very hard to ignore. You determinedly look anywhere but at her face, instead settling your gaze on Eridan like the idiot you are because obviously you don't want a shot of his ugly mug. Or so you tell yourself, but we all know better.

"Because," you flounder helplessly for a reason and what comes out of your mouth is, "I've got way too much laundry to do."

Which is complete bullshit because contrary to anyone's belief, you keep the rest of the house rather neat. It's just your room that reflects your supposed inner turmoil, or at least that's what the psychology teacher said.

"Oh." She looks slightly disappointed, then perks up again in a way that gives you a bad feeling. "Can we at least see where you live?"

"No," you say, too sharply, and before anyone can say anything else you turn on your heel and march off down the hill toward your home.

The way your imagination fills the gap between "Fef" and "your mother" is terrifying.

It's getting dark by the time you finally step into your house; as usual, you freeze for a fraction of a second, listening for the telltale sounds of someone else's presence. After a momentary visual sweep of the entryway confirms what you discerned from listening you relax and kick your shoes off to the left of the door, just inside the house. Usually you'd at least put them on the mat but at the moment you can't bring yourself to care, instead opting to toss your jacket at the stairs and dropping your bag at the side of the couch. You still haven't turned the lights on, and the dim light makes your eyes hurt.

It occurs to you as you slouch into the sofa that there was absolutely no reason to storm off like an idiot, as you just did. The mere mention of what happened all those years ago put you on edge, you suppose. Death is not your favourite topic, especially that particular incident. With a mournful sigh you realize you're already completely over the discomfort. It probably wasn't a good idea to blow them all off like that. Ugh.

You didn't even say goodbye to Gamzee, and you were rude to Fef. She doesn't deserve that. Eridan… well hopefully he'll be able to smooth over the situation. Doubtful, but. Wow, you just need to lay off him already, he's not that terrible.

A good hour is wasted just sitting there in the growing darkness, reveling in the fact that your mother isn't home to bother you or beat you or try to make you cook something edible and then beat you. She's not there to yell or scream or hit and the house is so peaceful, so quiet, you can't handle it. Shifting up suddenly, you snatch up the remote and mash the on button.

It's one of those stupid old televisions that turns on to the news instead of the channel you were on last time you'd been watching it, which is annoying and got old very quickly. Look, even now, the stupid thing is on something, CNN or whatever –

" – involved in a nine-car pileup on Gambit Street this evening. Eight people injured, one dead. Seventeen year old Feferi Peixes was a pedestrian crossing the street when the first car in the pileup hit her – "

You stare.

" – paramedics are still at the scene, questioning bystanders for more information about the situation involving Miss Peixes' death – "

There should be feeling here. You should be about to cry, or at least be upset. You know that you're supposed to be feeling something. But you're not. Instead you look at the screen with a detached unfeeling, an emptiness. It hardly registers, actually.

Feferi is dead. Feferi died five minutes away from your house. In a car accident.

You're out the door before you even realize you've moved.


End file.
